


What Might Have Been

by CommaSplice



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt GoT Exchange:: Renly doesn't die, and Margaery goes north with Catelyn to negotiate with Robb on his behalf. Margaery/Robb appreciated, whether inspired by romance or politics!</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Might Have Been

* * *

_My son is fighting a war, not playing at one._

Margaery had silently scoffed at Lady Stark’s words at the time, but she saw the truth of them now.

The camp here was very different from Renly’s. The men were too. Their faces were gaunter, harder, more scarred. That is, the ones whose features were not obscured by bushy beards and long hair. They were northmen, she told herself. They were used to harsh climes and living. They were not sophisticated. They lived very simply. 

She should have no difficulty negotiating terms on behalf of Renly. By all accounts, Robb Stark was a good warrior, but he was young and inexperienced. Renly wanted “King Robb’s” troops on his side, but he did not want to pay too high a price for his support.

Half the men here did not know what to make of her. They stared and gawked at her low-cut, revealing gown. The other half seemed to think she had no place here. Or perhaps they were gaping at Brienne, who lumbered a step behind. She would have preferred to have someone else as a bodyguard, but Renly had set his mind on the Maid of Tarth.

Margaery walked past a woman tending to a wounded soldier. The woman glanced up from her work and looked at her curiously. Despite the blood and mud-covered unadorned wool dress, she was beautiful with an olive complexion and black hair worn long in a braid. Margaery’s gaze fell upon the patient. He was missing an arm and his face was hideously scarred. 

“War is no place for a woman,” a large, strapping man with bushy whiskers muttered to another. 

His compatriot appeared to be in agreement. 

“Lady—Your Grace,” Lady Stark murmured. “It is this way.”

Margaery smiled automatically and stepped into the tent. Two men were bent over a table with a map and carved wooden pieces representing troops. At the sound of their approach, the older one covered up the map with a piece of cloth. He looked at them and inclined his head to both Lady Catelyn and to her before his gaze stopped at Brienne. His face was expressionless, but Margaery suspected he belonged to the contingent of men who felt women had no business in war. She recognized his sigil. This must be Lord Bolton. Margaery nodded her head at him and then focused on the younger man, King Robb, no doubt. And then he glanced up.

The so-called King of the North had deep blue eyes set in an exceedingly handsome face framed by dark auburn curls. He was perhaps her age and he had a warrior’s build. She had always thought Renly an attractive man, but he paled in comparison to his ally to the north. Like Lord Bolton, Robb Stark’s eyes flickered as he saw Brienne, but it was impossible to determine what he thought of her unconventional guard.

“Mother,” he said greeting Lady Stark. His voice was rich and deep.

She gave herself a little shake. It was of no matter how handsome Robb Stark was. She was here for one reason only.  
Introductions were performed, chairs and refreshments were proffered, and then they settled to the matter at hand. 

It would take very little time, she predicted. Robb Stark might be a superb strategist and an excellent fighter, but from everything their sources told them, he was no politician. She would make the offer. He would accept it and she would return back to the south where she belonged.

Within five minutes, she realized this was an optimistic estimate.

* * *

“These concessions come at too high a price,” Lord Bolton was saying. “Renly Baratheon needs our support if he wishes to take control of the rest of Westeros.”

“And with his armies, we can end this war more quickly than without,” Robb pointed out.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Robb resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lord Bolton did this all too often. If Robb did not jump to embrace his suggestions, Lord Bolton would visibly swallow his irritation and back off. Robb wondered if the older man had any idea how obvious or exasperating this habit was. “I am not disagreeing with you, Lord Bolton. I am merely— I would welcome your counsel.” Not for the first time he wondered how his father had made command look so very easy. It wasn’t the fighting that gave him sleepless nights; it was the negotiation and decision-making. It never ended. No matter what he said, there were always men second-guessing his every move.

Mollified, Lord Bolton began to suggest alternatives to King Renly’s offer.

Robb doubted Renly’s queen would be willing to accept the new terms. Despite the predictions that negotiating with a mere woman would prove child’s play, the first two meetings had ended in stalemate. Queen Margaery was all that was polite. She dripped with courtesies, but underneath her wide smiles and soft and pleasing manners was a core harder than Valyrian steel. 

Lord Karstark and the Greatjon arrived and then there was more discussion. They had too many prisoners. There was scarcely enough food to feed their own men. There was a significant cost to going to war on the cusp of winter. Food for their armies was crucial. If Renly needed their support, he would need to provide provisions from the Reach to keep their men fed. 

Interspersed with these inarguable points were three differing opinions as to how much to negotiate for, what concessions could be made, and then before Robb managed to quash it, extensive disagreement as to how the provisions would be distributed once they were acquired. 

The day was clear and he was stuck in this stuffy tent quibbling over mind-numbing details. He knew they were important, but they never ended. 

When he was nearly convinced he would never see the sun again, they finally had a new set of terms with which to bargain on the morn with Renly’s Queen. 

Robb stared at the pieces on the map. What had first seemed so simple had turned into a morass of complications. He feared for Sansa’s safety. No one had heard of Arya despite the hints Lord Baelish had dropped to Mother. Winning this war was the best chance of ensuring their safe return home.

* * *

Three days in, and they were only inching closer to an agreement. What Robb Stark lacked in cunning and sophistication, he made up for in resolve and common sense. He was willing to wed his sister Sansa to Willas. He was willing to swear an oath of fealty to Renly. Everything else was very much in contention.

The King in the North was not a stupid man, nor was he as simple as she had initially thought. He was overwhelmed and frustrated, but he was far from stupid. 

Margaery had made more concessions than she intended. Her father would be less than pleased with the amount of food she had promised for the northern troops. The armies of Robb Stark were large and they required provisioning. She thought Renly would find these terms acceptable, but then his political acumen was nearly as lacking as Robb Stark’s. But then Margaery pulled herself together. If her father wished her to be a queen, he would have to accept that this was the cost. 

Her husband was possessed of an instinct for survival and he would do well with the people, but it took much more than those qualities to make a king. If Renly was going to win this war, she needed to make the best possible terms on his behalf. And if he couldn’t manage to bed her and get a son on her, it would all be for naught.

This was brought home rather forcefully when Robb proposed his brother for Shireen Baratheon. Until Renly sired a son, Shireen was his heir, regardless of what happened to Stannis.

It would not be such a concern if Renly were anything like Robb Stark.

That King Robb liked women was obvious. She only had to look at the way he stared at the Volantene healer. She’d been here less than a single day when she started hearing mutterings about “the foreign bitch” who was bent on seducing “their King Robb.” If it began and ended with lust, that was one thing, but from what she had overheard and observed, it went well beyond that. 

It did not augur well for the King in the North. 

Neither Stannis Baratheon nor the Lannisters would step aside easily for Renly. If Renly was to prevail and if she was to be _the_ queen — and Margaery very much wanted this — they needed Robb Stark to stay in power.

* * *

Robb walked out into the camp. The fresh air was invigorating and he shook off the cobwebs. He liked to walk amongst the men. He stopped here and there, dropping an encouraging word or listening to their opinions.

“Your Grace.”

He turned to see Queen Margaery walking toward him with Brienne of Tarth at her heels. “Your Grace,” he greeted her. “My lady.”

“I wished to see something of your camp. Perhaps you would escort me?”

She was hard to refuse. Renly’s queen may have been a tough negotiator, but she was unquestionably a beautiful woman. 

“I hear you are to be wed.”

“Aye,” he confirmed, his gaze lighting on Talisa. 

“She is a fortunate lady. Do you know her?”

Robb tore his eyes away from Talisa only to see that Queen Margaery was observing him and Talisa. “No. I am to have my pick of Lord Frey’s daughters.”

“Then you are a fortunate man.”

He did not quite take her meaning. He furrowed his brow. They were now edging near Talisa. He could make some excuse and go back.

“Most do not get to choose to whom they are wed, Your Grace.”

“I sometimes think it would be better if we did.”

At this Queen Margaery stopped. She glanced backward and then at him again. “No doubt the alliance you have secured with House Frey will be to your advantage, just as the one my family arranged with House Baratheon was to ours.”

She was fair of face and possessed of a lovely figure. And from what he had heard, she was wed to a man more taken with her brother than with her. “It afforded us the opportunity to cross at the Twins.” He didn’t want to say more.

“His troops fight with you, do they not? I thought I spied some of their banners when we came into the camp.”

They were now well past Talisa. “Aye, he did send most of his men to fight with my forces,” Robb admitted. They still fought with him. “My little sister is to be wed to one of his sons as well.”

“Lord Frey is a shrewd negotiator then.”

Judging by the deal she had finally struck on behalf of her husband, she was even more expert. 

“Certainly, we women seldom have any say. Your sisters, were they consulted?”

“No, of course not.”

Queen Margaery’s expression was part amused, part cynical. “Would you allow them to choose their husbands?”

Robb stopped short. He gave her all of his attention now. “That is different.”

“How?” When he didn’t answer — couldn’t answer, really — she continued. “It is not merely for ourselves that we wed; it is also for our families. Your union with House Frey will bolster House Stark’s ties to the Riverlands, just as wedding Lady Sansa to my brother, Willas, will establish an alliance with the Reach. Your brother’s eventual betrothal to my good-niece will strengthen ties with my husband and the Stormlands. One’s vows and the ties of family and marriage, these are what bind us.” She glanced back at Talisa. “This is how the world works. But I know I do not need to explain that to Your Grace.” She smiled at him brightly and then took her leave of him.

Robb watched Queen Margaery’s retreating form for a long time. He glanced back to where Talisa was working. The healer looked up and locked eyes with him. He stayed where he was for a moment and then he slowly and regretfully turned away from her and went across the camp.

* * *

King Robb accompanied her on one final walk about his camp. Margaery said all that was proper about their new alliance. With Robb Stark’s forces combined with those of her husband and her father, she had no doubt the war would be won soon. They faced a bright future, she told him.

The King in the North smiled, but there was a tinge of sadness in it. “I hope you are right.”

“I know I am.” 

He nodded and then as if suddenly remembering a lesson from long ago, he wished her a happy marriage. “King Renly is a fortunate man to have you at his side. I hope he gives you many sons.”

Margaery’s smile grew fixed.

As she, her retinue, and her guards rode away to make her for Renly’s camp, Margaery wondered what it might have been like had her father wed her to Robb Stark from the start. He was not unintelligent and from the way he relied upon his mother for advice, Margaery had no doubt he would have been willing to be guided by her. He certainly would have had no difficulty in bedding her or in getting children on her. 

She could have been quite happy with him. Their children would have had blue eyes and auburn curls and they would have . . . 

Margaery shook herself out of her reverie. Her family had raised her to be practical. There was no use wasting precious time on what might have been.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the following wonderful souls without who (or is it whom?) this would never have been completed: [MotherofFirkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherofFirkins/pseuds/MotherofFirkins) and [LadyofTarth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyoftarth/pseuds/Ladyoftarth) for reading it over and advising as to content. And to [Vana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana) how beta read it for me.


End file.
